


Betty Crocker, Eat Your Heart Out

by prettyasadiagram



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Friendship, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyasadiagram/pseuds/prettyasadiagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek will never be a master chef, but surely he can manage a simple cake, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betty Crocker, Eat Your Heart Out

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to thatdamneddame for the beta and for belatedly changing all my hyphens into em dashes (albeit it because I shamed her). That's what I get for throwing shade at her stand mixer.
> 
> On that note, any remaining typos/errors are my own. Feel free to point them out.
> 
> Also, disclaimer, the recipe used was this, http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2009/07/best-birthday-cake/, which to be honest I've never made. But Deb Perelman is a goddess among chefs, so I imagine this cake is delicious.

It’s Boyd’s birthday in two days. The date is circled in pink marker on the calendar in the kitchen, with Erica’s sprawling scribble explaining the truly ridiculous amount of gold star stickers tacked onto the square.

No one has said anything to Derek about a party and he’s too embarrassed to ask, but he’s sure there’s one in the making. He can’t decide if it’s because he’s not invited or if he’s just never around when these things are discussed. Things have gotten better since the alpha pack came and went and Derek finally stopped wrapping his anger around himself like barbed wire, but he still feels guilty when Erica wakes in the middle of the night screaming and Boyd never quite relaxes unless all the pack is in the room. They have plenty of reasons not to want him at whatever celebration there might be.

He still feels like he should do something. Not crash their party, he has enough memories of being where he’s not wanted, but something small, simple. Something to show that he’s trying, even though he’s was not very good at being their Alpha. 

How hard can baking a cake be? 

 

++++

 

He decides to do a tester—it’s been a long time since he’s done anything in the kitchen, but doing it at the house is out of the question. The pack is there more often than not and well, it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore. 

He breaks into Stiles’ house—kid should really lock his window—and three hours later the kitchen floor is covered with flour and he’s pretty sure there’s egg in his hair.

This may be more difficult than he anticipated.

 

++++

 

Stiles finds him sitting on the floor, slumped against the counter, and he freezes. “Holy shit, what did you do to my kitchen?”

It’s possible that Derek has made more of a mess in his attempt to clean up and try again. The Stilinskis are now completely out of milk and butter.

He scowls, and Stiles cracks up.

 

++++

 

Ten minutes later, Stiles has helped Derek pick the eggshell out of his hair and sits him down at the table. “So, Julia Child, want to tell me what’s going on?”

“No.” 

“Yeah, not good enough. Derek, you basically exploded a bag of flour and there are eggshells everywhere. Try again.”

Derek frowns, struggling with pleading the fifth or giving in and asking for help. “Fine.” He grits out. “It’s Boyd’s birthday next week and I wanted—that is, I thought I could—since I wasn’t invited—” 

Stiles nods along, drumming his fingers. “You thought what?”

“I thought I’d bake a cake. But clearly, that’s not going to happen?” His voice cracks. “You happy now?” Derek realizes he sounds defensive and angry and bitter, and, well, he is. He just wanted to do _something_ and it’s turning out all wrong.

But Stiles doesn’t laugh or make fun of him or do anything like that, he just looks down and gets this _look_ , and Derek doesn’t know how to react. 

“I’m sure between the two of us we can figure this out.”

 

++++

 

Two false starts and two grocery trips later (they were out of butter and milk, and then apparently “buttermilk” is not milk mixed with melted butter), Derek reads the recipe aloud as Stiles wanders around the kitchen. “Preheat oven to 350 F.”

“Done.”

“Butter two 9-inch round cake pans—” 

“We don’t have those.” 

“What?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Round cake pans—not in this kitchen.”

“Well, that’s what the recipe calls for, Stiles.” 

“Look, man, we’ve got this 9 x 13 pan and this weird square one that I’m pretty sure is too small, but nothing round. Which do you want?”

Derek scowls and points at the 9 x 13 pan.

“Dude, I am helping you out of the goodness of my heart, don’t give me that look.”

“Don’t call me dude and line the damn pan with parchment paper.”

 

++++

 

(Derek loses control of the laptop when he argues with Stiles over if he should butter the parchment or spray it with cooking spray. The recipe gives both options, but Derek is sure one of them has to work better than the other.

Stiles points his finger and says, “Fine, whatever. You were the one who wanted to make a damn cake, so shut up and butter the damn parchment if that’s what you want.” He snatches the laptop with one hand and crows in victory while Derek is busy glaring at the finger Stiles still has in his face.)

 

++++

 

“Sift together flour, baking powder—” Stiles drones.

“Sift?”

“Yeah, Sift.” Stiles makes some sort of ridiculous gesture. “Get to, you know, sifting.” 

Derek puts down the bowl. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Yes?” 

Derek glares.

“OK, fine, no. I’ll look it up.”

“I thought you were good at this? Isn’t that why you offered to help?”

Stiles chokes on a laugh. “Derek, I haven’t been trusted in a kitchen unsupervised since I was eight. Scott’s mom has banned me from her kitchen, supervised or not. I’m helping you because you sort of asked. Also because you looked so sad with egg on your face.”

There’s something fond in Stiles’ voice and Derek chooses to ignore it. It’s that or blush, and Derek refuses to let that happen.

 

++++

 

They dig up an old stand mixer from the garage and things are going fine until Stiles frowns, absently wiping his hands on his apron. “What the fuck? What does ‘until barely mixed’ even mean?” 

Derek shrugs. “It sounds pretty straightforward to me,” his voice turns mocking, “until barely mixed.”

Stiles shoots him a look. “What? Like, until no flour is visible? Until flour is mostly gone and clumps remain? Jesus, Derek—you couldn’t have picked a recipe with pictures? Or bought a cake from Walmart? I’m sure those are super tasty.”

Derek lets the silence linger until Stiles shuffles and runs a hand through his hair. “Right, sorry. OK. Cake for Boyd. Beat in buttermilk. Just combined. Got it.”

They look at the batter. It looks disgusting. Stiles offers up, “It’s supposed to look like that? The recipe says it will look curdled, so we’re fine, we’re good, oh my God stop growling!”

 

++++

 

They carry on until Stiles throws down the spatula and cries about how one is supposed to add the flour mixture until “just incorporated.”

Derek is pretty sure this cake is a failure.

 

++++

 

The cake comes out of the oven forty minutes later looking golden and delicious and smelling like they might have actually gotten this right.

Derek slaps Stiles’ hand away. “Don’t touch it, you’ll ruin it.”

“Me?” Stiles squawks. “I’m not the one who exploded a bag of flour, buddy. That was all you.”

Derek waves a hand dismissively, before asking, “Do we need to frost it?”

Stiles turns back to the recipe. “There’s a recipe here for chocolate sour cream frosting. Did you want to make that?”

Derek barely refrains from pulling a face. That sounds questionable. “We made the damn cake without burning it. Let’s not jinx it. Can’t we use canned frosting?”

Stiles fist pumps. “Hell yes, we can. Do you want German chocolate, Almond Joy, or butter cream? 

 

++++

 

The final cake is iced and it looks a bit sloppy, but it’s done and Derek breathes a sigh of relief. And then he remembers that this cake is two days early and he doesn’t even know when the damn party is.

He shoves the cake toward Stiles. “Here, you take it. Eat it or trash it, I don’t care. I don’t know when the party for Boyd is and the cake might be bad before then.”

Stiles gives him a strange look. “I’m confused. Why did we make a cake if you’re not giving it to Boyd?”

“It was for Boyd. I just—I thought I could do something nice for once. But since I’m clearly not invited to whatever you guys have planned, you take it. You don’t even have to tell them I helped.”

When Stiles starts to look less confused and more sad, almost pitying, Derek bites his tongue on a growl. 

“OK, couple things,” Stiles says as he walks around the kitchen table to Derek. “One, no one would believe I made this cake on my own, even if all my friends weren’t walking lie detectors. Two, don’t you check your mail? The party’s this afternoon and I hand delivered your invitation to your mailbox. Yeah you never acknowledged it, but I just assumed you were taking ‘surprise party’ very literally and were keeping quiet. I thought that’s why you were making a cake today. Derek?”

Derek slumps down and leans against the cabinets, pulling his knees up to his chest, and laughs. 

“Derek? You’re kind of freaking me out here, so if you could say something that isn’t hysterical laughter, that would be great.”

“I don’t check my mail.”

“What, like ever?” Stiles sounds incredulous. “What about bills? Red Plum coupon books? Free car wash ads?”

Derek sighs. “Paperless billing. Do I look like someone who coupons? And I don’t trust strangers with my car.”

Stiles sits next to him. “You’re an idiot, did you know that? Of course you were invited. You’re not the alpha anymore, but you’re still pack and we all still need you. Although if you tell Scott I said this I’ll deny it before hitting your werewolf ass with my Jeep.”

“No, you won’t,” Derek says, beginning to understand why Stiles had sounded so fond when he found Derek in his kitchen, why he looked so sad when Derek said Stiles could take all the credit. “You helped me bake a cake when you didn’t even know what sifting was.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it.” Stiles knocks his shoulder against Derek’s. “You done talking about our feelings? We have a party to get to and a cake to eat.”

 

++++

 

At the party, there are hugs and Boyd smiles and the cake is good, and for once Derek actually feels like he’s taking steps forward.

He still tenses when the sheriff comes over to shake his hand but Melissa is by his side, and Derek relaxes when she grins and says, “Thank God you brought cake, whatever Scott brought is _horrible_.”

Scott’s cry of outrage is expected and ignored as Isaac goes to tackle him and Stiles cries that he deserves partial credit for helping. 

In the commotion, Erica slips over to Derek and leans against his side. “Boyd didn’t think you were coming. So, you know, thanks. It means a lot.” She stands on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek, and Derek can feel himself flush. 

Erica laughs and runs off, leaving Derek fidgeting and the sheriff and Melissa laughing. 

Derek meets Boyd’s eyes across the backyard and feels things starting to heal when Boyd nods in acknowledgment, a hint of a smile on his face.

 

(Stiles finds him later and hands him a piece of cake, nudges him slightly and says, “Turn that frown upside down, sour wolf. You did good.”

Smiling into his cake, all Derek can focus on is the warm line of Stiles pressed against his side. Maybe there’s hope for them yet.)

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not repost this work in its entirety or share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads.


End file.
